


Shipwrecked

by interstellaroverdrive



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Bipolar Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Born to Die World is a Fuck, First Kiss, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mania, Manic Episode, Murdoc is Protective of 2D (For a Brief Amount of Time), One-Sided Attraction, Panic Attacks, Phase Three (Gorillaz), Physical Abuse, Sad Men Who are Way Too Codependent on Each Other, Some hurt/comfort, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 03:46:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17841851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interstellaroverdrive/pseuds/interstellaroverdrive
Summary: A battle on land versus sea motivates Murdoc to be protective of 2D, comforting him through a panic attack and acting unusually warm and tender towards the singer. Eventually, the bassist succumbs to his own manic frenzy and finds that he just can't hold in his feelings towards the object of his affection anymore. However it only backfires on him, because God forbid if something were to ever go right in Murdoc Niccals' life for once. Written from Murdoc's perspective.(TW: physical abuse)





	Shipwrecked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anonniemouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonniemouse/gifts).



> I got distracted by listening to old Club Penguin soundtracks while writing this. That website was my shit when I was in the fifth grade. Anyway, this piece is dedicated to @anonniemouse, who writes a bang-on Murdoc in her stories and gave me the motivation to get to work on a Murdoc-centric 2Doc one-shot. Go check out her fics and her Tumblr (@a-nonnie-mouse)!  
> The title is meant to be a pun, BTW. Y'know, because this ship's gonna get wrecked by Murdoc fucking everything up. Get it, fellas???  
> Disclaimer: I do not condone unhealthy/abusive relationships. Please read with caution.

_Beeeep!_

 

_Beeeeeep!_

 

_Beeeeeeeep!_

 

Murdoc jolted awake. He immediately jumped out of bed from his mid-afternoon nap as the ear-piercing alarm kept going off and off and off.

 

Pirates—presumably The Black Clouds—had been detected within a two-kilometer radius of the plastic headquarters.

 

After the realization struck him, the first thing he had considered was _not_ to ensure that Cyborg was prepared for combat, _nor_ was it to gather up his own weapons for extra protection. Instead, his mind went straight to his wimpy singer who had been locked up in the subaqueous room of their rubbish abode.

 

The bassist’s imagination suddenly ran wild, scenarios with negative outcomes overpowering his mind. What if the malicious bandits invaded the HQ and hurt the younger man, leaving dark bruises and gaping wounds on the victim from their onslaught? What if the raiders would kidnap the person that Murdoc needed the most, then proceed to hold him for ransom? What if they attacked from underwater, moving the ship’s anchor back and forth repeatedly until it shattered the exterior of darling Stuart’s habitat—sequentially causing the whole island to flood and leave the singer helpless as he plummeted to his watery grave?

 

The 43 year old’s breath hitched at the thought of 2D being taken away from him. He had already lost the guitarist and the drummer; he couldn’t handle losing the man he held nearest and dearest. If the vocalist were to vanish from him, the bassist would have absolutely _no one_ to stand by him— _scratch that_ , Murdoc would have absolutely _no reason_ to keep on going with the shitshow he called his existence.

 

He constructed Cyborg Noodle in a way that only _she_ would be required to protect the entirety of Plastic Beach. However, the Satanist suddenly felt that his own programming wouldn’t be sufficient to defend his land. Murdoc gained the impulse to join the android as her ally—and in the back of his mind he knew _exactly_ why he decided to take on that duty:

 

He feared not just for his singer’s safety, but for his _life_.

 

The determined warrior swiftly jumped out of bed, quickly making his way to the blue-haired boy’s room once he had grabbed his most efficient rifle. While Murdoc notified him that pirates were on their way to bombard the island, he kept his weapon behind his back so as to not give the easily frightened singer a heart attack. The man-at-arms told 2D to not leave his room and stay locked up (as if he hadn’t already forced his captive to do that already). While instructing him what to do, Murdoc placed a hand on Stuart’s shoulder as he looked earnestly into his ghostly white eyes. After the fighter charged out of the room to make sure Cyborg was already outside and well-equipped, he could still feel the trace of 2D’s protruding bones against the palm of his hand.

 

Once Murdoc and the automaton were standing together by shore, they began analyzing their surroundings to see what was in store for them. Even from afar, the bassist could make out the Jolly Roger flags that blew menacingly with the strong current, as well as the sleek black cannons that were erected atop the flanks of wooden brown ships. He and the android replica of his missing daughter assumed the appropriate positions for battle with their weapons raised, ready for the bombs and blows that were about to come their way. Murdoc hoped to Satan that there were tons of idiots on board who would have trouble aiming towards him and Cyborg due to the mighty gust.

 

“You and I, we’re gonna play this game prudently,” he began commanding his mute ally. “The best thing for us to do is blow holes into their ships. That way, the bastards won’t have some sort of craft supporting ‘em and they’d lose their weapons as well. But if any of ‘em manage to swim over to the island, we’ll figure out a way to deal with ‘em. Negotiate with ‘em, shoot at ‘em ‘til their sorry arses scamper away, depends on who we’d be handling.”

 

He halfway expected to hear the young girl’s voice affirming him that she would follow his directions. Murdoc tightened his grip around the rifle, gritting his teeth. Now wasn’t the right time to lament over the Noodle that had gone astray.

 

Once the first faraway boom of the cannon was audible, Cyborg began to shoot as she and the Englishman stepped away from the black cannonball that came crashing towards him. As Murdoc squinted an eye, he raised his gun and kept his index finger on the trigger. He could identify a couple of figures from here, and as they approached closer and closer he could see that one of them had a hook in place of a right hand. They instantly reminded him of a certain Pinocchio-nosed, top-hatted individual who had wrecked his life during his most formative years. It irked Murdoc to no end. He strategically pointed his musket towards the ship that Hookhand was on and shot at its wooden material. Murdoc calculated his aim carefully, moving westward before pulling the trigger as the wind flurried eastward.

 

Much to his chagrin, he missed his shot. Hookhand seemed to notice that Murdoc had been pursuing them and their vessel, however. The pirate began to man one of the cannons, finding the right stance to aim towards Murdoc. The bassist scowled and kept trying to go after Hookhand’s watercraft a couple more times, but the draft kept fucking with him. Instead, he opted to shoot at the ship to the right of it (the gale was blowing towards that direction anyway), only to miss out on what was happening directly in front of him.

 

Murdoc had been so caught up in attempting to take one of the vessels down that he hadn’t noticed a cannonball coming right at him.

 

Right at the last second Murdoc scampered away, though it had slammed on his left foot—and if he hadn’t gone through life masking his pain and pretending that everything was okay all the time, perhaps he would have cried out in pain. Instead, he growled and moved along, continuing to fight even though his entire leg hurt like a bitch each time he put his weight on his left foot.

 

He kept on working with the android to get all three of the ships to sink, eventually noticing that one of them was about to sink on its side. In the midst of the battle, he sought refuge behind a boulder—both as protection and an excuse to not run around too much with his injured foot; the ships were all beginning to cluster pretty close to each other anyway due to the challenging current. Murdoc prayed to Satan in his head for sweet, sweet victory as he kept on shooting along with Cyborg.

 

Once the battle had ended after what felt like mere seconds (though it realistically lasted about an hour), Murdoc was completely winded. Everything had gone by so fast that he was shocked when he and Cyborg had watched as the last ship finally disintegrated and withered away. One of the vessels had apparently been full of cowards; they fled after the first craft had been taken down. Murdoc couldn’t see any pirates swimming their way towards the headquarters, but he stayed for a few minutes with his android daughter to make sure that no survivors were splashing up to shore.

 

The sun began to set, casting lovely hues of oranges, pinks, and yellows onto the murky water that had served as a battleground just less than fifteen minutes ago. Amused by the irony of the situation, the bassist placed a hand on the cyborg’s cold metallic shoulder with a slight smile.

 

“We make a great team, you and I. You were trained just as well as the real deal was.”

 

He then pursed his lips at the memory of her, staring down at his sandy and grimy leather boots. Perhaps giving them a polish and oiling his rifle would make him feel as though he had some control over the chaos in his trainwreck of a mind.

 

He gave the humanoid one last affectionate demand before heading back inside. “Be a dear and keep watch out here, alright?”

 

Before engaging in his two tasks, Murdoc thought of the young man who he had safeguarded. Instantly, he decided to check up on Stuart and notify him that the combat had ended, assuring him that he and Cyborg were alive and in one piece.

 

Murdoc proceeded to limp his way over to 2D’s room, informing him that it was only him behind the door—and for confirmation, he performed the secret knock the two of them had created while trying to come up with a drumbeat back when it was just him and the 20 year old Stuart Pot making music.

 

2D swung the door open, causing Murdoc to raise a brow at the usually sluggish man’s hasty conduct. Suddenly, the Satanist noticed something even more bewildering than the fact that he had felt peculiarly protective of the singer earlier. He was unpleasantly welcomed with the sound of Stuart hyperventilating, his large hands trembling by his sides as he stared at the bass player with abnormally wide eyes.

 

Murdoc knew exactly what Stuart was going through right now. Fear had always been a driving force in the bassist’s life; he still suffered through panic attacks when he was particularly under a lot of stress, mixed in with mental anguish and bouts of self-inadequacy. They were even worse when drugs came into play. He’d usually go straight to 2D when that happened once in a blue moon, sobbing uncontrollably as he held onto Stu for dear life. Now that the roles were reversed, Murdoc didn’t really know how to handle the situation. Seeing other people in distress or despondency always made him tense up; he had never been properly taught how to soothe another human being and he seldom had the instincts to do so.

 

Murdoc couldn’t help but internally scolded himself right now for being so tactless. For manipulating 2D and treating him worse than ever throughout the time they had been on Plastic Beach. For using the young man as an emotional crutch when Murdoc couldn’t even support his favourite person in times of distress. For not even knowing how to support _himself_.

 

All of a sudden, an epiphany occurred to Murdoc—a plan to reverse all of the bullshit he put himself and 2D through:

 

He could try and make it up to Stuart right now.

 

All he had to do was recollect what 2D would do to him when Murdoc needed consolation, and then do the same things back to him.

 

However, affection and tender words never came easily to the Satanist. But this was Stu he was concerned about: the very man he’d _love_ to hold in his arms and reassure—if only Murdoc were a normal person with a stable and secure head on his shoulders.

 

But he could fake it until he’d make it.

 

Trying to ignore the fact that his comforting skills were about as subpar as his singing skills, he hobbled over with 2D to his bed and sat on the edge of it with him. He took both of the 31 year old man’s shaky hands in his, remembering they were the same hands that would rub his back on the rare occasion that he cried onto his best mate’s shoulder. Murdoc squeezed his hands tightly in the hopes that their tremor would simmer down. 2D’s rapid breathing seemed to decelerate—though that didn’t stop Murdoc’s heart from pounding in his chest. Stu’s hands were sturdy yet soft, and they felt so right in Murdoc’s rough and calloused ones.

 

Whenever 2D provided Murdoc solace, he would usually remind him he was there with him and he wasn’t going to leave the bassist’s side. Because those words of reassurance had helped out Murdoc in the past, he decided it would be a good idea to say those words to Stuart.

 

“Stu… I-I’m here, alright? I’m here with you and I’m not gonna leave your side,” he paused, almost repulsed by how unlike himself he sounded, but he continued on. “I’m sure I’m the last person you’d want here with you right now—and I know, I don’t even like being around myself either... But I’m staying here with you, so don’t you _dare_ even try to fight me on that.”

 

Murdoc felt a little more confident upon hearing himself utter that threat, even if it had a caring undertone; it made him feel not so nauseated by this whole comforting business. 2D looked into his eyes, biting hard on his lower lip in anxiety to the point where it was bleeding. Murdoc gently wiped the blood off with his thumb, cleaning it off on his trousers before lacing his fingers with Stu’s again. He decided it was time to try and get down to the root of the whole dilemma, since 2D would generally ask him what was upsetting him. However, Murdoc had a good guess about what was bothering the blue-haired man at the moment.

 

He cleared his throat before he spoke. “Well, I ain’t surprised that you were able to hear everythin’ even from underwater. Swear I’ve got tinnitus now from all the kabooms and the kablooeys and whatnots.”

 

2D flinched and whimpered, letting go of the green hands he was holding to cover both of his ears, pressing down firmly on them as a couple of round tears rolled down his milky white cheeks.

 

“ _Fuck!_ Shit! I shouldn’t have said that, I shouldn’t have reminded you of it. I’m sorry,” Murdoc ended with a groan directed towards himself. “C’mere, c’mere.”

 

He enveloped the frail singer in an embrace, running his hand along his back to help him settle down more. The motions felt so unnatural to Murdoc that he wondered if he was actually being operated by a replacement of himself. Even with that said, he felt as though he were on autopilot right now, trying to redeem himself from all the bruises he had ever left on the singer physically and psychologically.

 

He kept rubbing his hand up and down 2D’s spine. “I’ve fended ‘em all off. They’re not coming after you—certainly not when I’ve got you under my arms. I did it all for _you_ , did it all for your life,” Murdoc croaked as 2D gripped onto the back of the bassist’s white turtleneck sweater.

 

Stu suddenly buried his face in the elder’s neck, and the latter instinctively rested his head on top of the former’s. Murdoc kept on muttering various words and phrases to dispel the agitated man’s fears. “You’re alright now”, “You’re in good hands”, “You and your safety are both important to me”.

 

After awhile, Stuart seemed to level out. He was sniffling less, he wasn’t crying a river any longer, and he wasn’t so shaky in Murdoc’s grasp.

 

The bassist pulled away from the hug, lifting 2D’s chin up with his index finger. The taller man’s ivory eyes were bloodshot and the bags underneath them were swollen and puffy as he looked back at Murdoc. However, the colour had returned back to Stu’s face and his breathing became even again.

 

“Are you feeling better now?” Murdoc asked, not breaking eye contact with the object of his affection in front of him.

 

The Satanist rejoiced as he heard the other man finally talk for the first time while they were together. “Y-yeah, better than before… Still a bit panicky, but not so much now.”

 

“Good,” Murdoc replied with a nod, letting go of 2D’s chin and placing a hand on his bony shoulder.

 

The both of them looked down at their feet, sitting there in dead silence. Murdoc felt separated from his mind for doing the morally correct thing for once, but at the same time he felt accomplished for having successfully made the startled mess of a man feel better.

 

Suddenly, it came to the bassist that neither of them had even eaten supper yet. He didn’t want his singer to starve, so he turned to look at him before speaking again.

 

“Mind if I tell Cyborg to go prepare dinner now? You can come with if you want. Probably not a good idea to be holed up in here all by yourself anyway.”

 

“I’m gonna have a shower first, then I’ll tag along. I’ve been meaning to have one, but… I just haven’t been feeling well enough lately.”

 

 _‘I wonder whose fault that is,’_ Murdoc thought to himself with a pang of guilt, trying to push away the fact that his temper had been worse than usual lately and he of course had to take it out on 2D.

 

“Right then,” he replied, removing his hand from Stuart’s shoulder.

 

But for some reason, Murdoc couldn’t find it in himself to leave him just yet—let alone look away from him. He scanned 2D’s pretty face, and the vocalist seemed to stare back at those mismatched eyes with the same levels of intrigue and curiosity that the elder man had.

 

On impulse, Murdoc leaned in and shut his eyes before planting his lips on Stuart’s softly. He kept his hands to himself, deciding to make the kiss chaste—completely unlike the rough and heated kisses he always shared with the strangers he laid. However, he wasn’t concerned about being slow and passionate with them because _none_ of those people meant anything to him.

 

2D was different, on the other hand. He actually _meant_ something to Murdoc. He was like fine china that he wanted to treasure and take great care of, but had ended up smashing and shattering to pieces. Murdoc valued him so much that he hoped his comfort and embraces from today would serve as enough glue to mend those broken parts back together.

 

Though in the back of his mind, he knew it would be _so much more_ _work_ than that—work that he would probably never start, because he was a fucked-up person and he would _always_ be that way. He had been a ruthless and hedonistic arsehole for decades and decades, so there was no way he could _ever_ change. In all those years he never thought to himself that he could modify his behaviour to become a better person, so _how_ could that satori come to him now or even in the future?

 

Upon convincing himself that he would always be a prisoner of his debauched mind and realizing that 2D had been mostly stiff the whole time they kissed, Murdoc pulled away from his lips and darted away from the room. He hid his tears as he ordered Cyborg to make dinner, and he couldn’t blame Stuart for not coming to join the two of them after his shower. Even though Murdoc chose not to eat, he made sure that the android had given him his rations—he cared more about Stuart than he cared about himself. Later that night, he drank his sorrows away and blacked out, wishing that the cannonball had aimed higher than his foot and obliterated him of his existence.

 

* * *

 

2D kept himself locked up in his room the next day. And the day after that. And the week after that. And several more weeks after that.

 

Murdoc was upset about Stuart purposefully ignoring him, but he couldn’t say he was pissed at him for it. In fact he understood why 2D was avoiding him like the plague, although he hated not having any of Stu attention directed towards him.

 

Throughout the time 2D had isolated himself, Murdoc found himself pining for the early days of the band. The impressionable singer would follow him around and obey him like a puppy. Murdoc secretly _loved_ that. He was hardly lonely with the young man under his wing, distracting himself from the thoughts that were threatening to pop up from the darkest corners of his mind by exerting control over the vulnerable boy.

 

Even though the Satanist had usually experienced a sick high from attacking him, it didn’t come without an ounce of guilt. So he’d subliminally try to make it up to Stuart by asking him if he’d like to spend some time with him, and they’d end up having fun together. Why couldn’t they just revert back to their old dynamic? Why couldn’t they go back to abusing various substances together without a care in the world? Why couldn’t they vacation alone together and enjoy each other’s company as they mucked about in foreign countries like Jamaica? Why couldn’t 2D just go back to worshipping and doing anything for Murdoc without question?

 

Suddenly, the bassist looked over at the clock on the kitchen wall as these burning questions stormed through his harrowing mind.

 

 _3:15AM_. Not an unusual time for a restless and unstable man such as himself to still be awake.

 

He threw his empty bottle of rum at the stain-covered walls of the kitchen, standing up so that he could get another glass to repress the heavy feeling in his sternum. Everything that had happened a few weeks ago felt much more like a fever dream than cold hard reality. Even more disconcerting to Murdoc was the fact that his views on the barmy singer would shift back and forth.

 

From hot to cold. From good to bad. From _love_ to _hate_.

 

One day, Murdoc would seethe with rage at the thought of the singer, crying and yelling to himself when he remembered that 2D was turning a blind eye to him (for a completely valid reason). The bass player would hate his guts for ignoring him, frustrated with the fact that he was _always_ the one who had to initiate the communication between them—which occurred infrequently and was usually a question of whether or not Stu had perfected his part of a song yet. Other than that, it wasn’t uncommon for them to not even catch a glimpse of each other’s faces. Not being able to even be around the person he appreciated the most deep down inside tormented Murdoc to no end.

 

How _dare_ 2D refuse to bow down to him and lay his life down for him? How _dare_ Stuart betray Murdoc by acting as though he didn’t even exist? How _dare_ he never demonstrate his loyalty to the Satanist by handing over his soul to the very person who saved his life?

 

But the next day Murdoc would worship Stuart, mentally praising him and thinking of him as his best and only friend. Caught up in such an infatuated high, Murdoc would deem him as the reason he was _still alive_ (though sex, alcohol, and music tied as a close second) as he wrote songs about how strongly he felt for the singer—lyrics that Murdoc would ironically force his beloved to sing.

 

The Satanist downed a couple more bottles of Pusser’s Rum, a hand in his hair as he stared around the unlit kitchen.

 

Suddenly, his eyes landed on the sight outside of the window, which painted a scenic picture of the brilliant glowing moon illuminating the dark blue sea. He remembered how a couple weeks after he had ordered 2D to live on the island against his will, the younger man’s anger had subsided for the time being and he finally hung out with Murdoc in the kitchen one evening.

 

***

 

_They had stood by the window and the blue-haired man had pointed out that they actually had a lovely view from here, suggesting that the two of them go out there to get some fresh air._

 

_Once they were outside, they sat together on the sand in comfortable silence, with the occasional sparse sentences being spoken amongst them._

 

_“Y’know, this brings me back to Jamaica,” 2D had said softly as some foam from the saltwater had washed up on his bare feet. “Just the two of us alone, spendin’ time by the water.”_

 

_Murdoc hummed in agreement. “We were always awake during ungodly hours, so we’d go out and have the whole beach to ourselves. Brilliant, wasn’t it?”_

 

_“Yeah. The best part about it all was sharin’ those moments with my best mate.”_

 

_The bassist’s heart leaped upon hearing those words, though he didn’t have the guts to admit to himself that he was basking in Stuart’s words. “Pansy.”_

 

_“Screw you.”_

 

_They both chuckled and kept relaxing on shore for awhile. When one of them moved around to switch positions (mainly 2D with his hyperactivity), their fingers would occasionally brush against each other. Sometimes they would subconsciously let the affection linger just for a bit, then pushed aside the fact that they were touch-starved for one another._

 

***

 

Upon reminiscing about that delightful night through a bottle of rum, Murdoc found himself on the more doting side of the love-hate spectrum regarding his feelings for 2D.

 

He set the glass down, staring off into space.

 

_Stuart. Precious, precious Stuart._

 

The 43 year old man’s lips quirked up at the thought of his star. 2D was perfect. His muse— _no, no,_ not just his muse. His _saviour_. He was the one thing that kept the bassist going. He was a blessing in disguise. He was the _only_ light left in his life. There was nobody and nothing else that Murdoc valued more than the exquisite singer, and there _never_ would be.

 

Murdoc suddenly felt so free right now, so _open_. He was in a manic frenzy, his heart bursting with joy about how much he loved 2D. He smiled like an idiot, not giving a damn about how foolish he looked right now.

 

In that moment, the bassist would have given _anything_ to feel Stuart’s soft, chapped lips against his once more.

 

All of a sudden, it dawned on him that it _could_ happen again. Perhaps if he was genuine for once in his life and confessed his feelings to the beautiful man, it would give him another chance to plant his lips on his and experience the same euphoria again. After all, he remembered that 2D seemed to stare back at him with interest too before the kiss had started. With that in mind, Murdoc thought the chances were good that Stuart would say yes to doing it again (and hopefully again and again and again).

 

The bassist rose up from his seat, leaving behind the glass of rum that was still over halfway full. Murdoc took the lift down to the bottom floor, unexpectedly feeling a bit nervous about what was to about to happen. However, he was too giddy to really dwell on it. The ding of the elevator reminded him he was coming down here for a good reason; he couldn’t just panic and turn around to his comfort zone. After all, Murdoc Faust Niccals wasn’t a quitter.

 

Once he approached Stuart’s door, he knocked on it urgently in case if the younger man was asleep. After a bit, 2D answered and looked at him in confusion, his eyes half-lidded and the dark circles under his eyes popping out against his pasty skin.

 

“What do _you_ want?” he questioned in a lethargic tone. “I was trying to sleep.”

 

The Satanist greeted him with a smile on his face. “Be a dear and let me in, yeah?”

 

Stu raised an unkempt brow at him. “What’s going on with you? What’s got you so chipper?”

 

“2D, 2D, 2D,” the bassist started as he put a hand on the taller man’s bare arm. “My, my, do I have something important to tell you!”

 

“... Okay,” the sleepier of the two replied as he led his energetic counterpart inside his room.

 

They sat down on the edge of the bed before Stu stared at Murdoc expectantly, his arms folded across his chest.

 

Murdoc placed his hand on top of 2D’s. “Have I ever told you that you’re amazing, mate? You’re a _rrrrreal_ dream come true, y’know?”

 

“Wish I could say the same thing about you.”

 

The bassist brushed off that insulting remark as the pitch of his voice grew a bit higher. “No, really! I mean it! You’re a darling. You’re-you’re-you’re my medicine, y’know? I-I mean, we both know I gassed you and forced you over here so that you could put that rrrrravishing voice of yours to good use, but I also made you come here ‘cause I _need_ you. You heard that, right? I _need_ you, Stuart.”

 

The singer’s face hardened. “Yeah, you need me as your own personal punching bag.”

 

“Err… no, no, no. No. There’s _something_ _beyond_ that.”

 

Murdoc paused to take a hold of 2D’s pale hands and proceeded to entwine his fingers with his, but the latter remained still as he gazed at the delirious man incredulously. The black-haired man ignored Stuart’s expression of disbelief as he continued babbling.

 

“You’re-you’re the most stable thing I have in my life right now. I haven’t got anyone or anything else. I’ve either lost ‘em, or they betrayed me and left me in the dust. I’ve already lost Noodle and Russel; they were great to have around but they’re gone now. And most of my chums I used to make music with just left me behind and stopped contacting me after our band fell apart, which _rrrrreally_ blows ‘cause I used to be close to the lot of ‘em. And _every_ _single rotting bastard_ in my family has betrayed me and tortured me relentlessly. Even now all the shit they’ve done to me still gives me grief to this day.”

 

All of a sudden, Murdoc’s facial features perked up with a light in his eyes. “But y’know what? It’s okay! It’s all okay! _Everything's_  okay!”

 

The Satanist leaned his face in a little closer to 2D’s, his speech pattern still animated. “Do you know why it’s all okay? Do you know why, 2D?”

 

“‘Cause you’ve got me to let your anger out on,” Stuart deadpanned.

 

“... Yyyyyes, well, the first few words of that sentence! ‘Cause I’ve got you! That’s right!” he waved his and 2D’s hands up and down repeatedly. “And-and-and I’m so glad I’ve got you, ‘cause I-I…”

 

Murdoc ceased the rapid motions to slowly rub both of his thumbs over Stu’s. “‘Cause I love you, y’know? I love you… love you _a_ _lot_.”

 

There was a pause, the tension in the air growing thicker and thicker by the second.

 

Stuart blinked and shook his head, removing his hands from Murdoc’s. “I’m not as stupid as you think I am, y’know. I can smell the rum on your breath, Murdoc. Quit messin’ with me.”

 

The older man placed his hands on 2D’s shoulders, shaking them back and forth multiple times. “But I _mean_ it! I’ve felt it for years now. We’ve been mates for a long time and I-I-I just can’t help myself, y’know? How could I resist such a beautiful man like you? Just-just look at you!”

 

Murdoc ran a hand through Stu’s azure locks, ignoring the tangles that got caught up in his fingers. “You’ve got stunning blue hair…”

 

He then proceeded to stroke 2D’s pallid cheek. “Smoooooth, smooth skin…”

 

The bass player then stared down at Stuart’s lips. “Warm, soft lips… I know you’ve got that ‘cause we’ve kissed...”

 

He shifted his gaze back up to 2D’s eyes, staring into them sincerely. “You’re perfect— _absolutely bloody_ perfect. You’re the only person I’ve _ever_ _truly_ loved.”

 

All of a sudden, Stu shoved the enamored fool hard enough to make him fall off the bed and snap out of his mania.

 

He furrowed his brows as he glared at the perplexed and fallen man. “Come off it, Murdoc! You-you… You can’t just _do_ this to me!”

 

Murdoc stood up from the untidy floor, staring at 2D with his head cocked to the side. “What? What did _I_ do? I haven’t done anything wrong!”

 

“ _Yes_ , you have! How could you just hold me and kiss me out of nowhere when all you would do beforehand is yell at me, throw insults at me, and beat the crap out of me?”

 

In a snap, the Satanist turned from perplexed to outraged. “Excuse _me_ for giving a shit about you! How _horrid_ of me to comfort you through a panic attack and sit with you until you felt better!”

 

2D sighed, running a hand down his face. “That’s _not_ the point I’m tryin’ to make here. I’m frustrated with you because… because _I don’t know_ what the _hell_ is going on with you. You keep on contradicting yourself and it’s driving me mad! _You’re_ driving me mad!”

 

Murdoc snarled, beginning to shout at his opponent. “Well that’s _your_ problem, not mine! What people think of me concerns them”—he paused to lean his face in closer to 2D’s—“and has _nothing_ to do with me!”

 

Stu raised a brow at him, crossing his arms as his voice became suspiciously calm and unphased whereas Murdoc was huffing and puffing in rage.

 

“Oh, is that so? Then I _don’t_ love you, Murdoc. Go chew on my words and tell me they _don’t_ concern you.”

 

With that, Murdoc’s heart dropped to the ground with a heavy thud.

 

However, he wasn’t about to lose this mind game. He didn’t want to look weak by making his sorrow apparent. Instead, he balled his hands into fists and snarled at 2D, his muscles tensing up as his blood boiled.

 

The cheeky fucker had a proud smirk on his face with his arms crossed, just _waiting_ to be punched. Murdoc could _tell_ that he knew 2D could take it. Even though he was hurt from the rejection, he didn’t want to give Stu the satisfaction of letting him win. The dispirited man _refused_ to show the smug boy that he cared about not having his feelings requited, so he tried to unruffle his feathers. He relaxed his body and unclenched his fists, though he didn’t think to pick his heart up from the cold hard ground and shove it back inside his empty chest.

 

“Right then,” Murdoc replied, trying to make his tone as unwavering as possible. “ _Hate_ _me_ if you want. See if I give a fuck. I know you’re bullshitting me anyway. You’ve _always_ looked up to me because we both know that I’m better than you.”

 

He scowled and began pointing a finger in front of 2D’s face. “And mark my words: _you_ can’t escape me. _Ever._ You’ve _always_ been under my thumb. _You_ need _me_ more than _I_ need _you._ You'd be lost without me because you'd have no one to guide you and tell you what to do. You’re _lucky_ I dragged you over here and gave you shit to do. You're too _stupid_ to do anything by yourself, and that’s why you rely on _me_ so fucking much.”

 

Stuart shook his head and scoffed, undeterred by the storm of insults since he’d heard worse from the Satanist before. “In your dreams, _Pedro_. And not only have you failed me, you’ve failed yourself as well. You can’t even _accept_ that I don’t love you and you’re already trying to convince yourself that I actually do. You _do_ care about what other people think of you—especially _me_.”

 

2D abruptly grabbed onto Murdoc’s collar, staring right into his eyes. “You’re _pathetic_. You hear that? _Pathetic_. You’re so pathetic that you try to get everyone to worship you ‘cause _you_ don’t even love yourself.”

 

Tears began pouring down Stuart’s face, and he took a moment to recollect himself. “In fact, if _I_ never made you famous, you wouldn’t even be lucky enough to knock off barmaids back in Stoke. _That’s_ how pitiful you really are, and you and I _both_ know that.”

 

If words could kill, the Satanist would have dropped dead right there and then.

 

However, Murdoc decided to stab 2D back in the heart with the last bit of life he had left in him. At least then, he and the only person he had ever truly loved would die together.

 

“Neither do _you_! You don't respect or love yourself enough to quit clinging onto a piece of shit like me, you fucking moron!”

 

Murdoc slapped Stu’s hand away from his collar and punched him right in the jaw, then pushed him down to the ground and booted him in the stomach over and over again. He ignored 2D’s deafening cries and pleas for him to stop. Peculiarly enough, more and more tears swelled up to the brim of Murdoc’s eyes the louder and louder Stuart’s shouts became.

 

Once the first teardrop gained the nerve to escape from his tear ducts, the bassist charged out of the door and retreated to his own room. After slamming the door, he collapsed onto his bed and buried his face into a pillow as he sobbed uncontrollably for the first time in years.

 

Not only did 2D turn him down mercilessly, he also read Murdoc like a book and killed his ego with his words. It _was_ true that the Satanist despised himself—so much to the point where he avoided looking into the mirror in fear of seeing the bastard he grew to resent. It _was_ true that he suffered from a debilitating superiority complex, trying to make himself appear godlike in a feeble attempt to actually feel confident in himself. It _was_ true that he would continue being a nobody if it weren’t for 2D’s angelic voice and nimble pianist hands—therefore the singer/keyboardist ought to earn way more credit than Murdoc would give him (as well as more compassion while the bassist was at it).

 

All of those statements were true, but that didn’t give Stuart permission to point them out and remind Murdoc of not just how much he hated himself, but also how _undeserving_ of care and sympathy he was.

 

The insecure man wasn’t even mad about 2D not loving him back. In fact, Murdoc thought Stu had _every right_ to decline his advances. After all, how could he expect the feelings to be mutual when he was responsible for almost all of the traumas Stuart had ever endured throughout his life?

 

Murdoc didn’t even feel human anymore. How could he be human when he didn’t even have benevolence and empathy like most of them do?

 

Murdoc decided right there and then that he definitely wasn’t human.

 

He was a _monster_.

 

A mopheadded, snaggle-toothed monster that haunted both 2D’s nightmares and miserable waking life. Murdoc was the shadow that followed his victim around wherever the poor man went, poisoning his unstable mind. It was his entire fault that the tortured soul was suffering, and the monster didn’t even want to live with himself and his crippling guilt any longer.

 

The monster had trouble falling asleep that night. Instead of slipping into dreamland—a world in which the deplorable creature could forget about his troubles—a recurring thought kept him awake in agony:

 

_‘Maybe a bastard like me was never meant to be loved’._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a 60's/70's-loving pacifist, so writing that whole Murdoc and Cyborg Noodle vs. Pirates scene was quite unusual to me. Anyway, hooray for Murdoc's emotional constipation. I also toyed around with the idea of continuing this story to make it so that Murdoc and 2D somehow get along in the end, but I decided against it. I felt as though this piece would be more impactful if I gave it a painful ending, so there it was lads.  
> Also, why the hell do some people depict 2D as  
> However, if you'd like a piece of work that involves the two of them eventually making up, you're welcome to read my previous work! It features a rather optimistic take on Phase 5 and what happened between Murdoc and 2D after the former came home from jail/Patagonia. You can also drop by my Tumblr for some lighthearted 2Doc headcanons/fun (with some bleak content of them laced in of course, because this ship involves two sad middle-aged men): @sadistsatanist666.


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